Victory Needs Defeat
by ItsRainingAndPouring
Summary: The story of James Potter, quick one-shot from the first time he saw Lily Evans until his death. "A story so different from all the rest must have a special ending, and that was yours. You died too young, too happy, too good."


You fell in love with her the first time you saw her, because isn't that the way it always begins? The exquisite girl catching the attention of the desirable boy? Only, it wasn't her beauty that made your eleven year old self want her. It would take a lot to grab the eye of James Potter, but the lively, vivid red hair and spirited green eyes were just features. (Features, nevertheless, that would soon keep you up at night and haunt your dreams, and then relentlessly haunt you in the hours that you were positive you were awake.) But, all the same, the devil was in the details, James Potter. It was Lily Evans' poise that you saw. The way she held her head, as if she was demanding respect from all of the other children there at King's Cross Station that morning. It was the depths within those eyes, the impossibly hidden nuances that hinted something rested deep within her core; and your need to find the answers. It was simple: you were hooked.

She wore a brown jumper, because it was unusually cool for a September morning, and denim muggle pants that rested on white jumpers at her feet. She was sitting in your compartment, but as she had been crying, you didn't speak to her. How _does _one talk to a crying girl?

A small, scrawny boy came in and began whispering to her. You thought if he could, you could as well. You _were_ James Potter. You could do anything on your first try, yes? The perfect opportunity showed its beautiful face, and you grabbed it with both hands.

"Slytherin," was the first word you spoke in her general direction. The word that brought you together, in this sense, the root of reason you were pulled apart, in the scrawny boy that sat next to her, and the word that belonged to the two men that led to your inevitable demise. But, this moment was only your beginning, so you continued: "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" Besides, you were better than that lacking boy that obviously held her friendship, a relationship that you so desperately wanted, and you were going to make it clear. But, in your attempts, you chased her away. As you grew up, you dreaded that with all of your being. Why had you been so vain? Of _course _a girl so good would want someone just as wonderful. But, when you were eleven years old, you didn't understand.

It turned out that Lily Evans was put into Gryffindor, like you knew she would. For days, you tried to speak to her, but every time she spoke, her voice grew more cutting. So, with every eye contact she'd break and every "goodbye" she'd hiss, your attempts grew. You needed this girl; everything in you ached for her.

Since she denied you, you convinced yourself you didn't want her. For the years following, every time she'd say "no" to your pathetic attempts, you promised yourself it had been a joke to anger her. It was funny. And when you grew, and you _knew _you'd been a goner for her from the beginning, you hid your hopes in the dark where all dreams belong, hoping that if you denied them, they might go away. But, you couldn't play God.

She grew, as you did, and picked holes in your resolve and blew holes in your confidence. You, James Potter, are a very impatient being, and so whenever she stepped on you, you had to show her where she belonged. You couldn't take it all out on her though, so you took it out on the boy (because let's face it, to you he would always be a boy and never a man,) that you were most jealous of. Her best friend, her secret-holder, her ties to the magical world. You took it out on Severus Snape, the strange and scrawny Slytherin, and that was one of your biggest mistakes.

You and Lily fought more than you slept, but that was okay with you. As long as you got her attention, right? The future never mattered much to you; it was the moment you lived for, so every time you made her seethe with anger, you counted it as an accomplishment. You strived for her emotions, and anger is a very passionate emotion. You had to admit, she worked well, and that just made it all the more fun.

It wasn't _all _fun and games, though. Actually, for you, it was quickly becoming far from. You had given her a part of your heart only she could have that day at King's Cross Station; a part of your heart no one else could touch. Anyone else would be pleased, but Lily Evans was not just _anyone, _(a fact you were very well aware of.) She vanquished and strangled it to the point that you had trouble breathing. You _hurt. _And you, James Potter, didn't like that. You were stronger than that. You were capable of many things. So one night, very late when in all honesty there was no excuse to _not _be sleeping, you asked yourself the most basic question: "what does she _want_?" And it was then, at the darkest part of the day, you decided you were going to be just that. And that's when the sky began to brighten.

It was hard, you'd later admit, to change your habits. But that's just what they were: you were a loyal and good hearted man at heart. A man that was capable of beautiful things. You had done her so wrong, and it was time to change. It took her longer than you'd have liked to notice, and for even longer she denied that you had in fact changed at all, but she did. And one day, or maybe in many, you won that woman's heart, because she fell through the ice when she while she was trying not to slip, because she too, could not play God.

She pulled you in deeper than you'd ever have felt comfortable, but for once, that was okay with you. You came to realize she wasn't the perfect girl you fell in love with, and that only made you love her more. She was real and she was yours. You could hold her in your arms, and be the cause of that brilliant smile. Severus and she were no longer, and you were now her number one. You still fought, but that had new advantages. Passion was passion, and now your brawls ended in stimulated and desirous kisses. You often times found your stomach being twisted in such occasions, with happiness that shouldn't be legal. You floated, and happiness simply radiated from your every pore. Life was _good. _The sun was at its peak and this was yours too; but the war around you was growing, even if you didn't want to admit it.

In short time, the two of you graduated from Hogwarts, but you never really left. The magic that flowed freely within its weathering walls coursed in your veins and that school would always be your home. You spent more time there than you would spend anywhere else, and it gave you everything. The headmaster was your guide, and in the middle of the war, you had hope. The school, the mentor, and the woman were all yours, and if you were going to die, you were going to die happy. The battle couldn't take that from you. That's also why you were so good at fighting against the Dark Arts; you had something to fight for.

One night, after a meeting with some of Dumbledore's select few, you asked Lily Evans to marry you. She had her hair tied back, and she wore denim pants with a brown shirt that made the green in her eyes absolutely stunning. Maybe it was the happiness in them. Either way, she was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, and when she nodded her head "yes" and wrapped her tiny arms around your shoulders, a small pang of guilt dripped into your gut. She was too good for you. You didn't deserve her. But she was yours, and you were the luckiest man on the face of the Earth. Lily Evans was going to be yours forever. Euphoria swept through your veins and left a larger than life smile on your lips. Lips that were soon being devoured by her own.

The wedding was quaint and beautiful, and very few were invited. The raging war was becoming far too deadly, and if any of the enemy had heard of this assembly, you'd all be dead in seconds. But the bride wore a simple white dress and you wore pitch black dress robes, and when you danced together, hope grew in the bellies of every person that _had _been invited. How could any God tear apart something so exquisite, so perfect? You and Lily were simply made for each other. No one would question it if they saw the love in each of your eyes.

After the wedding, you threw yourself into your work. You were brought to this world to save people, and that's just what you were going to do. You'd sacrifice yourself in an instant; a trait you'd eventually put to use. But you were good at what you did, and the people around you noticed. You were an idol in their time of need, so others followed your lead.

Missions were hard, but they were rewarding. You saved the lives of many, but there were some you couldn't save. The battle took your parents and many of you friends. Every day life was becoming more of a struggle. But you had Lily, and she had you, so when you had the time, every spare moment was spent in each other's arms.

One night, when things felt darker than they ever had, and the world had all but turned its back on you, Lily shared news with you that would replay in your subconscious for the rest of your life: she was pregnant. You grabbed her frail frame in your arms and swung her around in circles. She grabbed your face and kissed you. It was going to be okay. You'd come out of this. You were going to have a family.

Those nine months were hell: you were barely ever home, and constant fear that something should happen to the two people that were closest to your heart scared you. Every time you returned home, you'd take a deep breath before entering your fortress. But, thankfully, Lily's big eyes and even bigger belly were always there to welcome you with open arms.

The day your son was born was a hot day, and sweat had been pooling in the small of your back and staining your shirt. It wasn't pretty, but you hadn't cared. You paced the small hallway of the tiny muggle hospital (because you were, in fact, in hiding at the time,) for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, a mousy nurse ushered you into the pale room with watercolor curtains, and after three long strides, you fell to your knees at your wife's side. In her arms was a beautiful baby boy wrapped in a blue blanket. His almond shaped green eyes were wide at the sight of you, and your hand moved in its own accord to his own. A small finger wrapped around your much, much larger one, and that moment was when you realized you now had a promise to be kept: you must come home from every mission. Your son needed you more than anything in the world, (besides his mother, of course,) and you were going to be there for him. You were a father, and he needed you alive.

Raising baby Harry was quite the ride. Neither you nor Lily had much idea of what you were doing, so there were many spilt bottles, baby powder catastrophes, and diaper spills, but it was all in good fun. You were given a significant of time from your missions, and very few people were allowed to keep in contact with you. It was difficult at times, but you were ultimately thankful for what you _did _have. A wife you loved with every ounce of your being, and a son that meant the entire world to you: something you would surely give for either one of them.

Something you would soon find out wouldn't have been enough.

Your wife sat on your cotton cloth couch with her feet in your lap playing with Harry. She wore a brown, moth eaten T-shirt, and denim pants that were cuffed at the calf. It had been a long day of Trick-or-Treating, and after a few hours with no children knocking on your door, you'd both decided to call it a night and relax in the family room.

You heard your gate being swung open, and thought nothing of it. You tore your eyes from your laughing wife and giggling baby and walked to the front door, with a smile still playing around the corners of your lips. You placed your eye up to peep hole, and even in the dead of night, you had no problem seeing the tall, pale figure that was snaking his way up to your house.

The smile was gone as you shouted, "go! Take Harry upstairs!" Lily didn't question you: your face probably held the answer she needed. She bounded from the couch and lunged up the stairs, leaving her wand on the side table where she'd left it last.

You turned so your back was against the door, and you drunk in the last image you would ever see of your wife as she turned the corner. Of course at the time you had no idea if you would see her again: you were young, you were naïve, and you were (more than anything else,) optimistic. One's mind works very slowly at times, and you couldn't quite grasp your upcoming doom.

A chilling laugh cackled behind you and the door swung open, pushing you to your knees. He was just a man with something to prove. You could take him. This was your last first try, so you were going to make it count.

You got to your feet and you saw his face: a cruel smirk was mocking you, laughing at you. His eyes danced with victory. You then realized that you _didn't _have to always come home for Harry. You'd always be with him; every step of the way. He needed you now more than he'd ever need you again, and you barely had time to hope for his safety and his happiness.

Voldemort raised his hand, and his wand was nearly jumping with excitement. He quietly muttered the curse, and with a prayer on your lips for Harry's wellbeing, you fell to the ground with a loud thud. Your wife heard you from upstairs, and that's when she almost lost it: she couldn't though. She owed it to her child.

Voldemort commanded her to move aside, but she refused. And by killing her, he made the biggest mistake of his life: because, he was only a man. He couldn't play God.

Years passed, and your child grew up to be so incredibly talented. He was truly your son, and it hurt you to know he'd never be able to know the things you planned on telling him: how his mother finally fell for you, how to fly the fastest on a Clean Sweep, and what it was really like to love someone with all you are.

He couldn't escape the war, but isn't that why your story is told? You and your wife, Mr. Potter, would never simply "Rest in Peace," in a silent graveyard. You will always be remembered and your story will always be told. A story so different from all the rest must have a special ending, and that was yours. You died too young, too happy, too good. But because of your death, your son did overcome the war, and he defeated the Dark Lord.

People walk by your ruined home every day and whisper things like: "Isn't it so sad about the Potters? Such happy people…" But you came to realize that you wouldn't have been able to die any other way. There was no way you could have escaped with your lives. If you did, Voldemort did. And you'd do it again if you had to. You made mistakes in your life, but you grew to be happier than you would have known possible. You had Lily. You had Harry. What else does a man need in life besides love? Voldemort showed no mercy and no love, and that's what caused his defeat. Victory needs defeat, and his needed yours. You gave your life for the fight, and it was far from useless. You had everything to fight for, and everything to give. It was you and your wife that changed the wizarding world, and you did it with love.


End file.
